72 STARS OF Th re test haw aD B rth USE AND PREFER STEREoRealist The Camera That Puts 3rd Dimension on Film \ti - ,/' _'}ðóV ...""^'"""")...'V'..... " . , ft .(- I' ,: f v , ø* ..,. : .. . ...,.. :... ., "...,.. , f J ob-' (,-, , ....,. / .......,:. :to ",. ".. . . . .f "' .: Cec/1 B. de Å1/1/e $(/YS: "Stereo-REALIST was my personal choice for taking circus produc- tion picfures throughout the planning and filming of this movie. Every day I am more convinced the REALIST is truly 'the Greatest Camera on Earth.' " THE REALIST Camera is as exciting and col- orful as a three-1Íng circus, for REALIST pictures are a thrilling experience in lifelike three dimensions and full, natural color. The} 're so real they almost live and breathe! People who knou' picture-making and picture- taking all þ1'ef e1' the REALIST as their personal camera. The REALIST is also ideal as a vital new sales tool. But seeing is believing. See your camera dealer and plove to yourself that the REALIST is truly "the greate<)t can1era on earth." For catalog and full information write: DAVID WHITE COMPANY, 193 West Court Street, MIlwaukee 12, WIsconsIn. Camera and , $W';'f5 .< (tax inc.) ;<... t .. \,., M . ". . <, ...=w .t t., .". . .... þ i ,:t-:1'". Stereo-REALIST Cameras, ProJ ectors, Viewers and accessones are products of the David White Company. <v ."., ,-. ,, <<.. $0 .. ". "7 . --::^ N\ } oW \ ..\ \%'4 <:;, <.. ..., , Stereo Realis t TilE CAUERA TIIAT SEES TilE SAME AS YOU THe YeAR OF THe OL YMPICS T. RIS year, Germans are partici- pating in the Olympic Games for the first time since 1936, and whenever I read in the papers of the preparations-the preliminaries being run off, HelsInki getting ready to wel- come the athletec;-I think back to that year, when the Games were held in Berlin. They provided a pleasant in- terlude for man} of us who lived in the CIty. All the signs that said we were the country's misfortune had been tak- en down or painted over for the benefit of the foreign visitors. The main streets were gay with flags, and numbers of visitors-tall, smiling men in flat stl aw hats-were always cheerfully ready to sIgn autograph books with names like "J ohn Dillinger, U. S. A." I was twelve that year, and goalie on my soccer team, and it seemed to me that the only trouble with the holi- day mood was that it didn't last very long. Once the Olympics were ove;, the city very quickly went back to normal, and among the first to be made to feel this was my father. One noon, I came home from school and saw dark-brown splotches on the front steps of our apartment house. I stopped to examine them. They looked like blood; something exciting had hap- pened. I went on up to our floor. Our apartment door was open, and several old women from other floors stood just outside it talking to my mother. They stopped when they heard me comIng, and stared as if they felt sorry for me I brushed past them without speaking and went on into the apartment. "In the morning, he had to hurry off to school," I heard my mother say. "He doesn't know." I went into the liv- ing room. My father was there. It was not even one o'clock in the afternoon, and here he was, lying on the sofa with a wet towel on his face. He grinned at me. He was wearing a clean shirt, unbuttoned all the way, and one of his hands was bandaged. There was a sharp smell in the room-a hospital smell. "Away with the books into a corner," my father said cheerfully. "School is dead for today." "What's the matter with you?" I asked him, dropping my briefcase and pointing at his face. "Y Oll didn't hear a thing," my father said, as if it were a good joke on me. "You slept well." I wrinkled my forehead with im- patIence. "They beat me," my father ex- plained. "Early this morning. Two of them. " Something inside me began to hurt L L "Big as trees," he said "S.A. men. Right on our doorstep." His cheerfulness embarrassed me. I just nodded, gave m) briefcase a kick toward the corner, and went to the kitchen. I thought perhaps I should be crying. Or was I too old to cry, and should I take it as a sort of joke, the way he did? My mother was in the kitchen now. She was angry at me for the way I had acted in front of the neighbors. They had come to say how sorry they were, and several of them, when none of the others were listening, had said, "I am ashamed that I am a German." My mother said it certainly was decent of them to come over openly like that. I sat down at the kitchen table, and my mother gave me my lunch. The potatoes were dry and yellow, and I ground my fork into them until it screeched across the plate and the pota- toes scattered. My mother asked me if I thought food was for playing with or for eating. I told her I couldn't eat when my appetite was spoiled, and she said to eat and quit playing with my food like an idiot I asked why they didn't send me to a home for idiots, so that they could have peace. Then she looked at me, and we were both quiet, and I began to eat the broken pota- toes, whIch were ice- cold. After a while, I looked at my mother to see whether she was going to tell me about the nIght be- fore or whether we were going to do what we often did about unpleasant things-pretend that, really, nothing had happened. She seemed annoyed, and she avoided my eye and neither of us spoke. In the afternoon, my aunt and uncle came over, and my father got up and sat at the table, holding the wet towel over one side of his face, and told them what had gone on early that morning. There was no joking in the way he told